The Wall Crossers

August Loves Alone

Anja's perspective

I wake up with a start. I called out—that is what woke me up. As I lie here, I realize—I called out... Livie's name. Ja. In my sleep, I suddenly called out her name and that is why I am now fully awake in my bed.

I open my eyes. It is dark. My pillow is damp. My window is open—soft cool air moves the sheer curtain. I turn my head, look over to my other pillow. She is not lying there. Of course she isn't. Why would she be? I am alone... as always. My breathing—feels labored, but slowing now...relaxing from the dream.

I lie here—very still. I shiver, though my room is not so cold. I am still feeling the flush of some thrill caused by a dream, one that seemed so real, now just is a residue, a fast-fading shudder coursing through my body.

There are no sounds outside—Berlin is as asleep as it can ever be. That time that is after late and before early, the only sound—my thoughts—so crowded with the aftermath of dreams. Now as they fade into the dark, one dream stands out.

What was it she told me—in my dream? Something she said, like We are windows, Anja, windows on a broken sky—windows. And we were somewhere, like the guesthaus Strandhuus Norddeich—that lovely place of my dreams. We are in a room—crying tears of joy. Why? What has happened? Livie reaches for me and says I want you Anja... so everything will always be okay. I move my hands to her, cup her face. She wraps herself around me. Touches me. Oh! Her warm sweet breath is on me. I move to kiss her. This is what I want, my one desire! But... she fades—still smiling love to me. On the verge of bliss, now being stolen away, I call out to her Verlass mich nicht!! Livie!! (Don't leave me!!) I must have really shouted. And that is when... I wake up.

I feel damp, sweaty. I realize: I have worked myself into a wet seep with my hand! I get up, put on my slippers, remove my night clothes, go to the Waschraum (washroom), rinse off my two sticky wet fingers, sit on the toilet and pinkeln (pee), wash up, put on fresh underwear and my long light-coral night shirt, the one with a peace sign silk-screened on the front in tiffany blue and white. Something fearful happened in my sleep to shock my senses so. Or perhaps a frenzied passion interrupted by some... some loss. Oh, what is wrong with me!? I choke back a sob and just two tears leak out. These quickly cease.

I step into my kitchen, turn on the light, look around—everything is in its place—pour water into a small glass, take a couple sips, feel better, walk into the parlor, sit in my chair.

I ask myself: How are we windows? What sky is broken? Why did I dream of Livie—and why the guesthaus? Why did I call out to her—not Horst?

Since that day together in the Grunewald with Livie, we have been close, but have toned down our emotions, our intimacy controlled to avoid regret. We were too close that day, and it almost ruined our relationship—what we have. I am always fearful of being too close, relying on her too heavily for my real sense of hope, and then, in the end, losing her. She has given up any yearning that we'll passionately kiss—that we'll fall into each other blithely, with little regard for the future. Yet... Livie seems content. But... we have become almost shy when we touch each other now. I don't want that either. I need to tell Livie how I feel.

I go back into the kitchen, look around again. I notice on my countertop, in the corner, lying on a piece of paper—the blue stone, beside some cookbooks. I open a drawer, take out pen and paper, sit at my table, write a note of always-love to Livie. Feeling better, I place this note face-down under the blue stone, spin around, turn out the light, go back to bed.

It is later in the morning now. It is Saturday. It is summer—August. Things are calm. My mind feels so much better, than earlier. Livie will be here soon. We will go to the Tiergarten. To have a nice lunch somewhere. Livie will not be leaving me, at least not soon, and maybe never!